


The Descendant of Don Dugo and the Cootie Curse

by agentz123



Series: Who is Donald Duck? [9]
Category: DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: Bullying, F/M, Gen, Insecurities, Sexism, The American Education System Sucks but We Been Knew, Three Cabs References, Twin Bond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-29
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:20:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26171062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agentz123/pseuds/agentz123
Summary: Donald and Della start school.
Relationships: Della Duck & Donald Duck, Della Duck & Donald Duck & Quackmore Duck, Quackmore Duck/Hortense McDuck, Scrooge McDuck & Della Duck & Donald Duck
Series: Who is Donald Duck? [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1890283
Comments: 7
Kudos: 82





	1. The Destruction of the Leviathan

**Author's Note:**

> This first chapter was inspired by Gustave Doré and Hélidore Pisan's 1866 piece "The Destruction of the Leviathan."
> 
> Also, when I was watching LOTC I noticed that Don Dugo had a quacking scream like Donald's. So hey. Genetic disorder. Why not.  
> And PLEASE excuse the Gaelic! It was my attempt to say "my love." Please correct me if need be!

A horrible whistle pierced through the air. Droplets of water sliced through the wind, multiplying quickly enough to soak anything that they absorbed into. Objects trembled as they were swallowed by the white whirlwind, clattering and smashing and pounding and slamming onto the floor once they had been chewed and spat out back into the void. The whistling had transformed into a howl, and suddenly glass started spraying everywhere. 

Quackmore gazed upon the path of destruction in terror. He wanted to get away, he _needed_ to get away, but his webbed feet were glued to the floor with sweat. In just mere seconds, he too would be consumed, and he closed his eyes and braced himself for the imminent. 

_FLOMP_ !

The wind and the water and the screeching stopped. 

“Get offa me!”

Quackmore dared himself to open his eyes. He found his two children wrestling, his daughter suffocating the tornado with a pillow. He steeled himself and replaced the fear with anger as he bent down and pried the two of them apart, their tiny flippers dangling in the air. Donald kept kicking and hissing and scratching wildly, landing a few blows on his father. 

“No!” they shouted at the same time.

“ _Donald Fauntleroy Duck_ , you stop that right now! You _will_ go to school, and there _won’t_ be any ifs, ands, or buts about it!”

Della started giggling at the word "buts." Upon hearing his twin’s laughter, Donald calmed down. Quackmore gently placed them on the sofa. 

“You have to go,” he said softly. “It’s the law.” 

He eyeballed his son one last time, to ensure he had tired himself out. Lately that seemed to be the only cure to his tantrums. He smacked a kiss on both of their heads before heading into the kitchen, where his wife had been cooking dinner and listening to the entire episode. He groaned and slid into a place at the table. “It’s my fault,” he muttered into his hands. 

Hortense stopped stirring the noodles in confusion. By now he’d usually be ranting about how the temper on that child was going to get him killed. “How so, mo ghràdh?”  


“Don Dugo.”  


“What? What's a dondugo?”  


“My ancestor. It was his disorder. It’s been absent in the family for generations. But I managed to screw up and pass it to Donald.”

Hortense was quiet for a moment before admitting fault as well, explaining simple genetics. Her husband never was good at science. 

“I imagine he hates us.”  


“I would,” she bristled. 

***

Della stopped laughing when she noticed how her brother started hyperventilating again. She quickly gathered him into a hug. “What’s the matter, Don?”

“I don’t wanna go to school!” he screamed into her chest. She blinked. 

“Why not? I thought you actually liked math and all that junk. And we get to have recess!”  


“Because!”  


“Because why?”

He yanked his arms away from her and started sobbing uncontrollably. Della managed to notice how he weakly pointed to his throat before burying his head into his wings. 

“Oh,” she mouthed. She wrapped her arms around him again and let him cry until his throat became sore. Eventually he laid his head in her lap, with her twirling the tail of his cap in between her fingers. 

“What’s that?” He poked at a purple formation on her forearm. She flinched in (slight!) pain, and counted the individual feathers that had been subjected to hat hair before lowering her voice and responding. 

“Oh. That’s from...earlier.”

Donald thought for a moment. “I...I did that?”

“It was an accident!” she quickly reassured.

Sure, they always wrestled and tackled and pinched each other, but not enough to actually hurt. Donald tipped over and curled into a ball. 

“It sounds like I swallowed a monster. And I act like one too.” He folded himself tighter. “Maybe I am one,” he croaked. 

She snatched him up so she could scream into his eyes. “You’re not a monster!” 

“What kind of normal person hurts their baby sister?”

“It was an accident. Don’t we hit each other all of the time?”

“Not like _that_. I _really_ hurt you.” 

“You only hurt me when you called me a baby. Which I’m _not_. _I_ was first.” She noticed a corner of a smile growing on her brother’s bill. Don _loved_ arguing, almost as much as she did. Della continued. “I would know, since I watched you get stuck on your way out.” 

“Doesn’t count,” he mumbled, his smile growing wider.  


“Hm?” She pretended not to hear, squeezing him tighter. “What was that, Donald? I was too busy being older to catch that.”  


“Doesn’t count!” He started tickling her in her worst spot. She quickly released him and tried to protect her side with the pillow, but it had fallen to the carpet. She squealed a surrender and he stopped, allowing her to catch her breath. 

“Told ya," she heaved. "Monsters don’t make people laugh.”


	2. The Monster's Redemption

Despite his sister’s solaces, Donald decided not to speak for the entire school year. Sure he would get picked on for being the quiet kid, but it wouldn’t be as nearly as bad as being picked on for being the weird kid. For the entire first morning, he didn’t utter a word. Not during roll call, not during snack time, not during show and tell, where Della presented a wooden plane that a dusty old relative had sent her, one called...Scrooge? He had made that and a boat using a tree in his yard, just for them -- and managed to save ten dollars (a steal good enough to help him forget about the millions of splinters in his palms)! No, not a single word. 

Not until recess. 

From the edge of the sandbox, while trying to avoid droplets from the propellers, Donald lightly tossed handfuls of sand at his sister. She quickly adjusted her aviator’s goggles when she realized she had to navigate through a dust storm. She calibrated the controls, increasing her altitude in an attempt to fly above the desert tempest. “Copilot Don! This is not what I meant when I said I wanted sandwiches for lunch! We’re headed into a tailspin! Brace yourself!” She reached over and commenced turbulence. Under the effects of a nasty duck blur, Donald lost his balance and toppled backwards. Darkness hit, and Della shook his shoulders harder. “Ugh, flying through an eclipse too? This is going to be a bumpy --”

A grubby paw snatched the toy from her distracted fingertips. “What do we have here?” 

Della whipped her head around and glared into the beady eyes of a pack of Beagle Brats. Undaunted, she stomped up to Bean Beagle and knocked the can of garbanzos out of his hand and screeched, “Hey! Gimme back my plane!”

Bean looked at the rest of his brothers and began to laugh. “You idiot! Planes aren’t for _girls_! They’re too _stupid_ to know how to properly handle one!”

Suddenly he was shoved into the sand. Behind him stood the seething figure of Donald Duck. 

“Leave my sister alone,” he growled. 

Everyone stopped what they were doing to look at him, all wearing faces of disgust and irritation. 

“What did he say?”

“Gross, dude.”

“Shut up!” Bean had finally managed to make his way back onto his feet.

“Why don’t YOU shut up!” he screamed, his frustrations pouring out of his ears in the form of steam. “And give her the plane back!”

Bean thought for a moment. “Okay, I’ll give it back. _After_ I give you the five-bean-supreme knuckle sandwich!” He swung out in an attempt to grab one of their collars, but they had escaped in a mad dash. He turned to his brothers. “Sic ‘em!” 

The twins sped up, gnashing teeth and snarls nipping at their webs. “How should we handle this?!”

“With the Terrible Twin Tumble!” Della hollered. Donald gave her a fierce grin and started rounding back towards the litter. He pretended to have tripped and landed right in front of Bean. Without enough time to stop, he fell over Donald and sent the rest of the pack tumbling. Della took the opportunity to swoop in and retrieve her plane. They set off again, until they were able to take refuge in an outside hall of lockers. 

“Are you alright, Delly?” he panted. 

“No!”

Donald quickly looked her over, like their father had done millions of times. She was a bit dirty, but she never cared about that. “Erm...what’s the matter?”

“There’s Beagle Boy Boogers all over my plane! Hurry before it’s too late!” She started off to the closest water fountain, where she began furiously scrubbing off the stickiness. Donald caught up with her after grabbing some paper towels from the restroom. After ensuring her plane met her standards, Della felt a cold shadow loom over her. 

“Did the cooties get me?” she said softly, defeated. He studied her, and upon missing any hints of bubbling boils or flaming rashes, he shook his head. She sighed in relief, and that was the only sound for a while. 

“I really am sorry, Delly. I hope I didn’t embarrass you,” he whispered in an attempt to hide his voice. He was very bad at whispering, his voice scratching the sound waves and causing them to bounce haphazardly off of the walls. 

She punched him in the shoulder. “Don’t be a dummy,” she laughed. “You could never embarrass me. Well, your voice anyway. It’s my brother’s voice, and I love my brother.” 

He blushed, rubbing his arm. 

“Thank you for sticking up for me today, Don.”

“I got your back,” he said automatically. 

“And I got yours. That way we never back down, right?”

“Right.” He gave that resolute smile, and offered his hand. She gave it a strong grip, their wings locking. 

“I love you too, sis.”


End file.
